


You're Already Dead

by this_year_more_queer



Category: L.A. By Night (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Brujah (Vampire: The Masquerade), Everyone Is Gay, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gay Sex, M/M, Nosferatu (Vampire: The Masquerade)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24221722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_year_more_queer/pseuds/this_year_more_queer
Summary: Carver is recruiting for the revolution. Jasper has questionable morals, remarkable power, and a tight little butt.
Relationships: Jasper/Carver
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	You're Already Dead

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by punk butts of all shapes and sizes, but particularly inspired by what we used to call "punk butt" when I was in high school -- the phenomenon of skinny punk boys wearing tight jeans with shockingly flat butts.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to the fantastic cast of Vampire the Masquerade: LA By Night for helping inspire my deep queer filth, to my own dirty mind, and to all my sex nerds. Also thanks to the best band ever, Crass.

_They've tried to hold the people down / But we've simply gone underground / Moving in the darkness looking for the light / Looking for a future and ready to fight / Looking for the freedom that's been denied / Fast to attack and fast to hide / In a world where the people can't make it / They've simply got to learn to break it / And if the wealthy aren't prepared to shake it... / O.K., we'll simply have to take it..._

\-- Crass, You’re Already Dead

As best Jasper can tell, it started when he ripped his pants running, in some fight or another, knee to crotch and halfway down the other side. They were last pair, threadbare before the fight, rendered completely unwearable, obscene really. And part of self-preservation, Jasper reasoned, included the preservation of one’s bits, no matter how grotesque and disfigured those bits had become.

It was a simple matter of sneaking into the shutdown mall overnight, sliding unseen and unnoticed by the cameras and the sensors, it was another matter to choose the pants. Jasper figured he probably hadn’t gotten new pants in close to five years, but his taste, he supposed, remained relatively the same. All-black everything, aesthetically tattered, perfect for blending into the night while looking suitably moody. He shook his head. Why care about aesthetics when one is a hideous monster? He grabbed the first pair of black jeans he saw, put them on, and headed out of the store. 

They were similar to pants he would have worn before. Tight fitting, no rips or holes (for maximum longevity, given the fate of his prior pants), a deep, dark black. He nodded to himself. Fine.

***

It was a night later, maybe two, when he ran into Annabelle and Carver on campus. He was getting ready to leave the coterie’s base of operations when he heard voices, angry whispers, getting closer. On instinct, he melted into the shadows in the corner of the room closest the door, which flew open almost immediately, then banged shut.

It was Annabelle and Carver, fighting as usual. Black leather jacket versus red leather jacket, studs and boots versus smart phones and sentimental jewelry, bad music versus bad music. Jasper snorted, and stepped forward.

“Fuck you, dad!” Annabelle was yelling at Carver. “Ah!” She started, seeing Jasper’s sudden appearance. “I didn’t see you there! Well, of course I didn’t. You’re doing your whole lurker hiding in the shadows thing. Wait, hold on, are those skinny jeans?”

Carver let out a howl. “Wow, Jasper! A Nos in skinny jeans, wow, that’s a fashion first.”

“I think you look great, Jasper.” Annabelle glared at Carver, who doubled over, laughing harder. Bloody tears began to run down his face.

“I absolutely don’t see what is funny about this.” Jasper glared at both of them. “Would you rather I wear no pants?”

“These are pretty close,” Carver stood up, wiping the blood from his face. “They don’t exactly leave much to the imagination.”

“Don’t listen to him, Jasper. They’re nice, really.”

“Yeah, they show off that little flat Nosferatu punk butt.” Carver gave him the thumbs up.

“Punk butt?” Annabelle looked bemused.

“You know, those skinny punk boys at all the shows, a billion tiny belts to hold up their skinny jeans on their little flat ass butts.”

“Ass butts.” Annabelle giggled.

“Whatever,” Jasper said. “I’m leaving.” He turned on his heel. If he could blush, he would have.

“Hate to see it, but I do love to watch you go, punk butt,” said Carver.

Jasper quicked his pace, melting into the shadows outside of the room.

***

He made it back to his haven in record time. He opened the heavy door, grumbling to himself. “Fucking punk butt.” He walked into his living room, shucking off his hoodie.

“Yeah, about that.” Jasper started at the unexpected voice behind him, in the cage. It was Carver, big smile on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jasper stalked towards him, wrenching the cage door open. “Does fucking everyone know where I live now?”

“Calm down baby doll, I’m not gonna hurt you.” Carver smirked at him. They stood toe-to-toe, sizing each other up. Jasper growling, bearing his fangs, the beast in him rising up into his throat, ready for release. Jasper was taller, his long, twisted form, slim muscles, corded with those raised black veins. Carver was bigger, though, probably stronger, and older, Jasper thought, looking down at the other vampire. Carver’s bulk was enhanced by that leather jacket he always wore, his arms crossed against his chest, smirking up at Jasper.

“Tell me why the hell I shouldn’t hurt you.” Jasper said, growling down.

Carver smiled again, walking backward further into the cage. Jasper followed, footstep-for-footstep. “Annabelle told me. What you’ve been doing in here. What you like, what you need, how you feed.” Carver’s back was against the wall of the cage now. “It’s pretty fucking depraved, baby doll.”

Jasper growled, louder this time. He grabbed a fistful of Carver’s jacket, pulling the other vampire up as he leaned down. “It’s none of your business what I do. And stop calling me fucking baby doll – you can call Annabelle whatever they hell you want, but not me.”

Carver chuckled, unphased. “Jealous, Jasper? Do you want a special nickname, just for you? Baby boy?”

Jasper roared, and Carver acted. Quick as a snake, Carver cleared his throat and spit into Jasper’s mouth.

Carver’s spit was pure blood. It was cool and thick in Jasper’s mouth, running down his throat. Carver’s vitae was smoky, ash and whiskey, the back room of a seedy club, strength and power. So much power. Jasper’s head swam from the taste, the feel of it in his mouth. He groaned, eyes closed, his hands slipped, releasing Carver, who took the opportunity to push Jasper back, slamming him into the cage door, which closed behind him.

Jasper’s eyes flew open. He pushed back at Carver, who just smiled, laughed in his face. Jasper’s beast struggled with all of his might, but Carver’s arms were like iron. He held Jasper pinned against the door of the cage like it was nothing.

“Sweet baby boy.” Carver kissed him on the cheek. Carver’s lips were cold on Jasper’s face, but not unpleasant. “I know that you keep Kindred in this cage. I know that you bring them humans to feed from, and then you drink their vitae, you nasty little bitch. I know that Baron Abrams pays you well to do this. And you’re going to do it for me now, too.”

“And why the hell would I do that?” Jasper’s head was spinning, the taste of Carver’s vitae on his lips, in his mouth, coating his throat, thrumming through his body, almost like being alive again.

“Because you’re sick of Kindred politics, sick of these Barons telling you what to do, the Camarilla dressed up different, with smart phones. Because you work for me now, me and the real fuckin’ Anarchs. And because I’ve got what you need, baby boy, and you’ll do anything to get it again.” 

Carver kissed him on the lips then. It was nothing like kissing Chloe, nothing like kissing old girlfriends or the boys he’d kissed on the dance floor at the goth club, years and years ago. Carver’s fangs were biting into him, forcing his mouth open. Carver tonged his own vitae into Jasper’s mouth, coating Jasper’s teeth, his fangs, his tongue, the insides of his cheeks. Jasper groaned, his long body twisting. His hands grasped Carver’s leather jacket again, his gnarled, veined fingers and claws scrambling for purchase, though to push Carver away or pull him closer, Jasper didn’t know. Jasper’s beast was screaming inside of him, desperate for more than just these little tastes. Desperate to drink from the source.

Carver pulled away from their kiss, grinning. Jasper could see the vitae on his mouth, coating his lips. Carver licked his lips, tongue coated in red.

“You like that, baby boy?”

“Fuck you,” Jasper said. His teeth were clenched, his beast struggled against Carver, trying desperately to bring their faces closer, their lips together again, to taste, to drink.

“That’s what I thought.”

Carver reached a hand under Jasper’s shirt, his palm flush against Jasper’s skin, pressing him harder against the cage. The cold feeling of Carver’s hand, the metal bars of the cage digging into Jasper’s back, the smell of blood rich in the air.

“There’s lots of ways for us to feel pleasure, Jasper. Not just the feeling of drinking, not just the ecstasy of the Kiss. It’s not just blood that can make you feel this good. Let me show you.”

Jasper laughed, a bitter choke. “We both know that kind of pleasure is over for both of us. Our bodies don’t work like that anymore, Carver.”

Carver rolled his eyes. “Heteronormativity isn’t a good look on you, Jasper.”

“Nothing’s a good look on me anymore, Carver.”

Carver pressed him harder against the bars of the cage. “Don’t be flip. There are many ways to feel pleasure that have nothing to do with a hard cock.” 

Carver forced his knee between Jasper’s legs, pressing up into his crotch. There was a dull sort of pleasure, through the layer of denim, an almost-delicious friction in his groin. Jasper’s beast tried to move, to grind down on Carver’s leg, chasing the feeling.

Carver clicked his tongue. “Good boys are patient.”

“Who said I was a good boy?”

“Lots of people.” Caver’s knee began to move, pressing harder onto Jasper’s clothed cock. “Baron Abrams says you come when called, do whatever he wants. Baron Victor says you’re loyal – you’d do anything for him, wouldn’t you. Nelli likes you, in spite of herself. Annabelle thinks you’re ‘a good person’ still, what a fucking joke. You’re a monster, a beast, you’re fucking wasted on these do-gooders.”

The pleasure sparked up Jasper’s spine; he let out an undignified whine. “I thought you wanted me to be a good boy,” he managed, voice cracking.

“Just for me, baby boy. Now let’s get these fucking ridiculous pants off.”

Jasper hesitated. His beast was desperate, frantic, for blood, for sex, for Carver’s vitae in his mouth, his throat, all over his body. And there was something in him, something dark and deep that yearned for Carver too. The knowledge prodded at the back of his mind.

“You fucking bastard. The blood bond.”

Carver smirked. “Not yet, baby boy. But you’re so fucking close. Just one more drink from me, and you won’t have a choice – you’ll be all mine for good. But I’m a real fuckin’ sweetheart, so I’ll let you make your own call.”

Jasper looked down at Carver. His cunning, narrow eyes, that ridiculous pink and purple hair, the stupid leather jacket, his knowing smirk, the swagger, barrel chest, strong arms – Jasper shook his head. The nights were long and terrible, and he hadn’t felt pleasure beyond the kiss in so long… His hands went to the waistband of his pants. Carver’s smirk grew wider.

Jasper pulled his pants down, pooling at his calves, held up by his boots. He had never been self-conscious of his body before the change, but now he was hideous. His legs were long and hairless – cold and pale skin taught over misshapen bone, deep twisting scars, those damn knotted black veins. He had no pubic hair, just his long, slim, flaccid black-veined cock and his heavy twisted sac.

Carver didn’t seem to mind. “Turn around, baby boy. Let me see you from behind.”

Jasper turned, slowly. His back was bowed, hunched over, a twisted spine, a perpetual crouch. Each vertebrae was visible and black veins crisscrossed all up and down his entire back side. His ass itself was small and pale, barely-formed buttocks, marred with those same black veins.

“Like what you see?”

Carver snorted. “I’ve seen worse.”

Jasper heard the click of a cap, a slick sound behind him. 

“Baby boy, has anyone ever touched you here?” Carver’s hand was on his ass, rubbing, kneading, then patting fondly.

“I’ve had my ass grabbed, if that’s what you mean. Never anything inside though.”

He could hear Carver’s smile. “This is going to be fun.”

Jasper felt Carver’s cold, wet finger rubbing the outside of his asshole. He closed his eyes, sparks behind his eyelids, beast clawing at his chest. “Fuck.”

“That’s nice, huh.” The rubbing continued, gentle circling. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby boy.”

Jasper groaned. Carver’s thick finger breached him, pressing up and in. There was a burning sensation, and then the feeling of being filled, strange but not unpleasant. Carver crooked his finger, touching a small and sensitive part inside of him. Jasper screamed, the beast exploding out of him.

“There it is.” Carver’s grip tightened. Jasper thrashed in his arms, teeth gnashing at the air, hands clenching and unclenching. Carver added another finger, scissoring and stretching. His fingers retreated, and then pressed back, inexorable, that same deep and secret spot.

Jasper felt the pressure, the pleasure, building and building. It had been so long since he’d been touched, since he’d been fucked, his own furtive attempts to wake his sleeping cock in his haven late in the night felt nothing like this, the sparks catching flame in his body, starting in his ass and building, moving, rushing through his whole body. He and the beast roared together – so close.

Carver stopped then. “You gonna work for me, baby boy?”

“What?” Jasper pushed back onto Carver’s fingers. “Please, what?”

“You gonna work for me? Join the real Anarchs? Fuck shit up together?”

“Yes, yeah, whatever, just please, please, I need more,” Jasper was sobbing, red tears rolling down his cheeks.

Carver licked the blood from his face. “Of course, baby boy.”

Carver’s blunt fingers pressed back into him, deeper, pressing hard into Jasper’s prostate. With his other hand, he fondled between Jasper’s legs. First his balls, grasping and rolling them between his fingers, soft and gentle. His fingers then played up and down Jasper’s cock, tracing the veins idly. He licked his hand, thick red blood dripping into his palm, onto his fingers. He rubbed at Jasper’s cock with his bloody hand, moving smoothly up and down Jasper’s soft shaft, cupping and feeling. His thumb at the tip of Jasper’s cock, fingers deep in his ass, massaging his prostate. The pleasure rolled over him, rising and cresting, almost.

“Carver, what… I think… can I even… I’m going to…”

Carver smiled. He’d never looked so much more like a monster, fangs sharp and glinting. “That’s it, baby boy. Give it to me.”

Jasper screamed, his beast screamed, loud and echoing. The pleasure peaked, crashed over him, beginning in his ass, rolling through his cock, up his back and down his legs. He shook, his arms twitched, his neck shivered. His soft cock twitched, once, twice, and then oozed vitae, the thick red blood pulsing out of him, pouring over Carver’s hand. 

Carver let go of him then, and Jasper sunk to the floor, groaning. Carver knelt down, one hand on Jasper’s face. He licked the blood from his own hand, grinning.

“Pretty tasty for a Nos, baby boy.”

Jasper chuckled. “Thanks, I think.”

Carver stood, patting him on the head. “It’s a compliment from my heart, Jasper.” He cocked his head, pretending to check a watch. “Well, baby boy, sun’s up soon, so daddy has to bounce.”

“If you think I’m gonna call you daddy, you’re crazier than I thought.”

Carver smiled. “I’ll see you first thing tomorrow evening, Jasper. We’ll be seeing a lot more of each other, these nights.”

Jasper watched as he sauntered out of the cage, turning the corner to head out of his sanctum. His eyes trained on Carver’s hips, their slight sway, the shape of his ass, round and firm, in his pants. Imagined grasping, holding, squeezing, hands pushing between Carver’s firm cheeks, and… Jasper heard the door open, then close.

Jasper groaned, still on the ground, in the cage. “Fuck,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> The author would like to note that, while I am a punk with a butt, I do not have a traditional "punk butt." My butt is large and shapely, thanks to the following factors:
> 
> 1\. Being, as the youths say, somewhat "thicc,"  
> 2\. Doing a ton of squats,  
> 3\. Eating a ton of potato chips,  
> 4\. The magic of transsexuality.


End file.
